‘The shop is as temperamental as its owner, but it will probably return.’
Greta laughed. It felt good to enjoy the company of someone who got it.
Edgar finished his drink and looked at his watch. ‘Almost closing time,’ he said. ‘I always lock the door at four o’clock sharp these days. You can stay as long as you like, or come back anytime.’
‘That’s okay. I should really be going.’ Greta stood up.
‘Well, I wish you the best of luck.’ His tone grew more serious. ‘But be careful with that coffee, my dear. It can become rather addictive.’
Greta nodded. ‘A bit like caffeine? I think I have it under control.’
‘More than that.’ Edgar’s eyes narrowed. ‘If you get hooked on the life you think you want, you might lose touch with the one you’re actually living. Not all that glitters is gold, and the coffee comes at a cost.’
Greta shifted a foot. Lately, her nerves felt jumpier, her arms sometimes itchy—perhaps the side effects of the coffee. But Edgar seemed to suggest it was something deeper. ‘I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said.
Edgar returned the magazines to the drawer and slid it shut. He hesitated for a moment, his fingers twitching. ‘If you do return to the coffee shop, I wonder if you could do me a favour?’
‘Sure, no problem.’
‘You didn’t hear it from me,’ Edgar said, lowering his voice. ‘But Iris keeps her individual blends in the back room.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen them, including your jar.’
His eyes lit up. ‘If the opportunity arises, might you pick mine up for me? I’m fairly certain Iris no longer has a use for it.’
It was then Greta noticed the faint tremour in Edgar’s hands, and how his eyes were slightly bloodshot. ‘Why don’tyougo back for it yourself?’ she asked.
He smiled sadly. ‘Iris and I had a disagreement. She can be a little difficult. I’m sure you understand,’ he said. ‘I try not to think about the coffee, but . . . well, you know? Life without Eliza is hard. Lonely. I’m not sure I made the rightchoice,the last time I saw Iris . . .’
‘Choice?’ Greta asked, detecting regret in his voice. ‘What choice?’
Edgar’s eyes clouded, a shadow crossing his face. ‘Maybe you’ll find out. Hopefully,you’llmake the right one.’
Greta wasn’t sure she liked the sound of this. ‘I don’t think I can just take something for you,’ she said firmly.
Edgar nodded, as if he’d expected this reaction. ‘Of course. I understand. No harm in asking. If you’re ever in the area again, do call in. It’s been a pleasure and a solace to talk to someone about Eliza.’
He walked Greta to the door, his hand resting lightly on the latch. ‘Only you can decide how far you’re willing to go for the perfect life, Greta, and what you’re willing to give up for it. Only you can choose to live with the consequences . . . or not.’
That word again.Consequences.A chill crept along Greta’s skin. She lowered her eyes, thanked Edgar, then stepped quickly outside.
‘Good luck, but be careful,’ Edgar said quietly as he closed the door behind her. ‘The past has a way of holding on tight and not letting go.’
Chapter 27
GRETA STOOD INfront of her oven, mixing Bolognese sauce into spaghetti and trying not to think about Edgar’s warnings. The meal was Lottie’s favourite, and she still wanted to clear the air after staying overnight in Iris’s coffee shop. She was looking forward to a quiet, uneventful evening with her daughter.
Behind her, Lottie moved around the kitchen, opening a cupboard door to take out plates and glasses before retrieving cutlery from the drawer.
Greta added a twist of black pepper to the pan, savouring the unusual sense of harmony in the flat.
Lottie appeared at her side. ‘I’ve been thinking . . .’ she said casually, as if asking for extra pocket money. ‘I might stay with Dad for a while.’
‘At the penthouse?’ Greta paused, gripping her spoon. ‘How long is a while?’
‘Not sure. Maybe a few days or so. That okay with you?’
‘I suppose so.’ Greta stirred the pasta again, harder, until it began to break apart. The spoon clanged against the side of the pan. ‘I’d been thinking we could decorate the flat together for Christmas. I’ve left it late this year, and there’s only a week to go.’
